


Good Things Come to Those Who Wait

by dexstarr



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Begging, Bondage, Community: daily_deviant, Cross-Generation Relationship, F/F, Femslash, Fingerfucking, Lingerie, Older Woman/Younger Woman, Slytherins Being Slytherins, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-06
Updated: 2017-11-06
Packaged: 2019-01-30 11:22:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12652575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dexstarr/pseuds/dexstarr
Summary: Narcissa can be patient, very patient, until she doesn’t want to be.





	Good Things Come to Those Who Wait

**Author's Note:**

> _Harry Potter_ is not mine and no profit is made from this work. Written for the IJ community [daily_deviant](http://asylums.insanejournal.com/daily_deviant). Event: 2011 Kinky Kristmas.

“Narcissa!”  
  
In that single word, Narcissa heard a multitude of things. Want. Need. Desperation. Frustration. Smiling down at her younger lover, she made a soothing noise and continued to fold Pansy’s dress, which she had just removed. “Good things come to those who wait,  _ma fleur_.”  
  
Pansy glared at her, eyes wide and dark, pupils so large they had swallowed the dark blue of her irises. Narcissa could almost see her reflection in those huge pupils, and her smile widened. It was the little things she appreciated the most, things that most people wouldn’t even notice. She took great joy in bringing those little things out, even if it did take a careful hand to tease Pansy, to take her to that point where she teetered so close to the edge that one touch would send her over. The younger woman wasn’t quite there yet, but they had all night, if that was what it took.  
  
“You made me wait all day,” Pansy grumbled, some of her desperation erased by her snippy attitude. Pansy Parkinson was a woman who got what she wanted, when she wanted, and having to wait for the attention she craved so much wasn’t making her happy. The minute she had appeared in the manor, Narcissa had dragged her out for shopping and pampering, and while Pansy enjoyed those activities, she much rather would have reacquainted herself with Narcissa’s bed and body.  
  
“And you made me wait a year,  _ma fleur_. You could have taken a Portkey on the weekends.” Narcissa clucked her tongue, and then dropped the argument. It was an old one between them, and she wasn’t about to resurrect it. Not now, not when her flower had returned to her at last. The year apart had been long, but she had to agree with a cliché she had once heard, about absence making the heart grow fonder. Even though the saying was Muggle in origin, she could appreciate it, and the distance had strengthened their relationship.  
  
They had sent messages to each other nearly every day; Narcissa had purchased a fleet of owls so that neither of them would have to wait to receive a letter. Gifts had been sent too—the latest fashions from the runway from Pansy, jewelry and flowers from Narcissa. It had been quaint, in a way, almost like conducting a courtship in the old days, but now the wait was over, thank Nimue.  
  
“Narcissa, you can take your time  _later_ ,” Pansy whined. For her part, she wanted—no,  _needed_ —a fast, powerful climax, one that only her lover’s fingers would bring. Her imagination was a pale replacement, and her flat in Milan had been very lonely, and very quiet, without Narcissa there at night. Here in the manor, Narcissa’s wing had the strongest Silencing Charms Pansy had ever seen cast, which she fully admitted were necessary. She could be rather vocal at times.  
  
Pansy had surrendered—quite patiently, she thought—to Narcissa’s first round of teasing. They had disrobed each other slowly, Pansy undoing the buttons of Narcissa’s outer and inner robes with her teeth. Narcissa had used her hands to strip Pansy, fingers moving delicately over buttons and zippers, neatly folding each article of clothing before moving to the next. Pansy had been ready to burst by the time they were both in their lingerie, but Narcissa had insisted on taking their time there as well.  
  
The slow process had provided her with the opportunity to stare all she wanted; even after a year apart, Pansy hadn’t forgotten one centimeter of the older woman’s body. Again, her mental picture was colorless in the face of the real thing. The cups of Narcissa’s corset pushed her breasts up and together; they were a little larger than Pansy’s, but still firm and high on her chest—witches did age slowly, after all. The corset also accentuated the older woman’s narrow waist and the flowing curve of her arse.  
  
Trying to take the upper hand and encourage Narcissa along, Pansy laid back, artfully arranging herself against the pillows. She fluffed her hair, the dark strands shiny in the lamplight, and ran a hand along the waistband of her knickers, attempting to draw Narcissa’s eyes—and fingers—to where she wanted them.  
  
Pansy had dressed carefully this morning, selecting a balconette bra and bikini-cut knickers that tied in the front with a satiny ribbon. Both were lacy, and in her favorite color, Slytherin emerald green. “Narcissa,” she pleaded again, not adverse to begging if it got her what she wanted.  
  
“Yes?”  
  
“Come here.” Narcissa arched a smooth, golden eyebrow at her, and Pansy added, “Please. I need you.” Her tongue darted out, licking coyly at her bottom lip.  
  
 _Brat_ , Narcissa thought affectionately as she moved forwards, kicking off her heels and joining Pansy on the bed. But Pansy was her brat, and she would enjoy bringing her back in line, reminding the younger woman of who truly held the upper hand in their relationship. She still had her lingerie on as well, but then, they enjoyed dressing up for each other, decorating their bodies with the perfect bits of lace and silk.  
  
“What do you need,  _ma fleur_?” She knelt beside Pansy, smirking to herself when the younger woman moved her legs apart. “Surely you took care of yourself, while you were away.”  
  
Pansy didn’t even have the decency to flush. She just nodded, controlling the movement so that her hair spread out over the pillows, the dark color stark against the white, sky-high thread count cotton. “You do it better,” she simpered, tilting her pelvis up suggestively. After a day full of heavy looks, fleeting touches, and whispered comments, she couldn’t wait any longer. “You can tease all you want, later,” she added, repeating her earlier directive. Sick of waiting, and nearly driven mad by the sight of Narcissa in a cobalt blue corset and nude silk stockings, Pansy grabbed the other woman’s wrist and yanked Narcissa’s hand between her legs.  
  
Having expected Pansy to do something like that, Narcissa wasn’t surprised in the slightest. She let Pansy tug her wrist down, the backs of her fingers just brushing against the damp silk of Pansy’s knickers. Pansy’s hips rocked, thighs moving further apart, and Narcissa obligingly increased the pressure of her touch, her own arousal sparking at the heat radiating out from Pansy’s cunt.  
  
She didn’t linger for long, however. As soon as Pansy hissed, eyes half-closing, Narcissa pulled her hand away. The resulting whine was the sweetest music, and she laughed. “Did you forget who is in charge, while you were away?” She shook her head in disappointment, blonde curls sweeping her shoulders. “You must have. Time for a reminder,  _ma fleur_.”  
  
Taking her wand from the bedside table, she pointed it at Pansy’s wrists, guiding them up and over the younger woman’s head. Silver ropes sprouted from the wand’s tip, tying Pansy to the ring that was centered exactly between the bedposts. The ornately carved ring had been carefully placed over previous sessions, useful for when Narcissa wanted to take her time, and when Pansy didn’t want her to.  
  
Vanishing Pansy’s lingerie—as much as she appreciated the style and color choice, she was feeling impatient as well—Narcissa put her wand out of the way. She took a minute to memorize the sight of her young lover, naked and impatient for her. Pansy had grown into her body, the gawkiness of her adolescence erased by maturity. Even her nose—she had once cried, face buried in Narcissa’s shoulder, when Draco had called her a pug—fit her now, enhanced and sculpted by a few charms.  
  
Narcissa cupped Pansy’s breasts, which were the perfect size for her hands, fingers splayed over their curves. Stiff nipples pressed into her palms, and she pinched them gently between thumb and forefinger, feeling them harden even more. Pansy wriggled, jerking against the ties, but Narcissa ignored her. Continuing her leisurely journey of re-learning the younger woman’s body, she ghosted her hands up, tracing out the ridges of Pansy’s collarbone. The skin here was softer than her nipples, not as pebbly, even with the hard bone right beneath the surface.  
  
“Narcissa!”  
  
“In time,  _ma fleur_ ,” Narcissa said. She wasn’t sure how long she would be able to hold out, however. Her own control could only last so long, and Pansy wasn’t helping, squirming about as best she could, dark eyes begging, mouth parted in another plea.  
  
She ran the tip of a nail down Pansy’s torso, the younger woman’s belly going concave when she reached it. Pansy’s skin was soft everywhere, warm and sensitive under the pad of Narcissa’s finger. She dallied at the tops of her thighs, limning the round bend of her hips, down to where she knew Pansy needed her touch the most.  
  
But again, she didn’t linger. Narcissa’s knickers were growing damper by the second, but she pressed onwards, determined to hold out as long as she could. Pansy’s body was a thing of beauty and she wanted to enjoy it properly.  
  
Her fingers walked over quivering thighs, thumbs caressing what she was pretty sure was the softest part of Pansy, the inner skin of her upper thighs. Narcissa pressed a little harder there, not wanting to tickle with too airy of a touch. Soon enough, she felt wetness under her fingertips, and could smell Pansy’s arousal, a combination of musk and orchid perfume.  
  
Pansy struggled harder, arms fighting the magic bindings, the ebony wood of the headboard creaking from her efforts. Before, she had thought herself driven mad by want, but now she was at the point of insanity. The only thing she could think of was her orgasm, and if Narcissa made her wait any longer, she would go crazy from need. “Please, Narcissa,  _please_! I can’t wait any more,” she begged shamelessly, the words coming out amongst whimpers. She wasn’t being calculating anymore, trusting that her desire and obvious need would convince Narcissa where her earlier attempts hadn’t.  
  
“ _Ma petite fleur_ , my poor Pansy.” Unable to wait any longer herself, Narcissa acquiesced to Pansy’s demands. She had been about ready to, anyways, her blood at the boiling point from the teasing she had put them both through.  
  
Running the tips of two fingers along Pansy’s slit, she gathered wetness, the flesh there velvety smooth. Reappraising her earlier estimate—this, undoubtedly, was the softest spot on Pansy’s body—Narcissa plunged her fingers inside. She knew exactly what Pansy wanted—a hard, fast orgasm, a complete contrast to the gentle, drawn out teasing she had just put her through. And now Narcissa wanted that too, because she loved to watch Pansy twist and writhe on her hand, and also because she wanted the younger woman’s head between her thighs as soon as possible.  
  
Pansy felt like silk around her fingers, inner walls clenching down as she sought out more. Narcissa didn’t waste time pulling her fingers all the way out, drawing back just enough so that she could thrust roughly into Pansy. The bed squeaked, headboard knocking against the wall as she drove Pansy’s body forward. The sounds were higher than Pansy’s low moans, but Narcissa didn’t find it annoying.  
  
Her thumb rolled over Pansy’s clitoris, the nub hard and slippery, and Narcissa pressed down firmly. “Come for me,” she ordered, voice husky and scratchy with her own lust.  
  
All of Pansy’s focus was on getting off. Heels digging into the bed for leverage, she fucked herself on Narcissa’s hand, meeting each pump of the older woman’s fingers. Despite the year apart, their bodies were still in tune, able to predict each other’s movements, and she let go, heat pulsing outwards from her cunt. Blood rushed to her chest, turning her skin pink, warming every inch of her. Tingliness built at the base of her spine, rushing through her, and then she screamed, orgasm taking over her body. Her body arched upwards, only her shoulders and arse and heels on the bed. “Fuck! Fuck!  _Fuck_!” Obscenities seemed to be the only thing she could say, mind erased by the fierceness of her climax.  
  
Narcissa watched every second of it, long practice allowing her to follow every sharp, twisting movement of the younger woman’s body. She spelled off her own knickers as Pansy collapsed back to the bed, still panting and cursing, and gently pulled her fingers out. Her hand was soaked, evidence of Pansy’s orgasm, and she held it to Pansy’s mouth. Pansy’s tongue flicked out to clean her palm and fingers, hot and wet against her skin, and that was when Narcissa broke.  
  
Her other hand shot out and grabbed a fistful of Pansy’s hair, the sleek strands a different sort of silkiness on her skin. She moved so that her thighs framed Pansy’s face, cunt over the younger woman’s mouth. “Take me,” Narcissa demanded, remembering just in time to release the spell binding Pansy’s wrists.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was originally written in December 2011.
> 
> Come visit me on [tumblr!](http://galacticcoyote.tumblr.com/)


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